


salt the earth.

by Riken



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: post war for independence, somewhat of a canon divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28222680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riken/pseuds/Riken
Summary: Ghostbur doesn't sleep. When everyone does, though, he tries to piece together fragments of his previous life at L'manburg.And he remembers.(Alternatively: Ghostbur remembers the past, but pretends he doesn't.)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 78





	salt the earth.

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been burning holes in my head for a solid day, you don't even know...

He practices putting on a lovely smile whenever he sees the others. It’s a perfect smile trained in front of the lake— not too overbearing, not too sparkly. It’s a bit demure, rather. But that’s what Wilbur wants: to be a comfortable presence.

When the lights flicker off in every resident home, and the only light left is the slice of the moon above and the gently bobbing lamps, Wilbur wobbles along the wooden path of a fractured country. There’s a certain beauty that only pulls from nostalgia, but he can’t place a finger on _what_ he’s nostalgic about. The citizens of L’manburg have tried to repair its damage as best as they could ( _Damage_ _from_ _what_? He always thinks to himself. Nobody ever answers.) by slapping glass over jagged holes and pouring water to drown the ghosts of the past away.

Today, he feels a certain urge to go to a house. Usually, Wilbur doesn’t have an itinerary— he follows the wind. Yet tonight, it’s different.

At the edge of Fundy’s house, he pauses. There’s a flash of luminescent green silhouetted against a nearby tree. Dream steps out, his mask unnaturally sharp in the rim light.

“Wilbur,” Dream’s voice issues. It’s clean. Really sharp. Almost authoritative, but it’s clear Dream isn’t attempting to be outright aggressive. “I’ve noticed you’ve been...wandering these nights.”

“Yes,” Wilbur says, and his voice echoes, though it’s quiet in the wind that’s begun to pick up. He flexes his fingers, which he can see the floor through. He’s never paid much attention, but his skin glows gently, emanating a silvery light. He wonders how nobody’s noticed him wander around at nighttime, save for Dream.

Dream waits two heartbeats. “I won’t stop you.” He tugs on his hood, concealing his face entirely, and grabs onto a tree branch. In three pulls, he sails onto a rooftop and melts into the darkness.

Fundy’s house is clean.

Clean and devoid of  _ anything  _ sentimental, save for a badly scrawled drawing of fish plastered hastily on the cabinets.

Wilbur presses his fingers against the cabinet. For a dizzying moment, his fingers phase through. Even in this state, Wilbur knows he can interact with objects. He tries again, and this time his fingers rub against the raw grain of the wood. 

The library is an archive of books that make a haphazard story with far too many holes and much too little content. Wilbur’s gone through every page, every word, trying to rebuild himself, what Wilbur alive was like. Nobody answers his questions, save for Dream who responds with even vaguer sentences.  _ Who were you close to when you were alive? Well, Wilbur, have you ever seen the way flowers lean towards a sun? _

_ I don’t remember anything at all, _ was the constant answer. Which was a small lie, one he feels guilty about, but for some reason there’s a small dark part of the man that relishes in the fact Dream doesn’t know  _ everything _ about him.

Because he remembers the smell of bread, despite never eating as a ghost.

A strange sense of happiness upon seeing Fundy (but Fundy treats him like he’s nothing).

Flashes of braces and an overwhelming urge to playfully smack Tommy (but the more he thinks about it, the darker his mind clogs up and the heavier the headaches thud against his skull). 

Niki (and there’s absolutely nothing that clings to his subconscious akin to guilt when reminiscing upon a theoretical past with her. She smiles gently at him, though it’s a bit sad).

Dueling with Techno (Techno always won, but Wilbur remembers winning once using mind games. The ring of training sword against sword is perhaps the most clear thing he’s ever heard). 

A book lays in his hands, the cupboard ajar. Wilbur doesn’t even know how he’s acquired Fundy’s diary, but it’s in his hands, meticulously wrapped. He wonders why Fundy ridicules others for holding sentimental things when the fox himself has a diary.

He opens the page, and takes a sharp breath.

* * *

It takes only two nights. Wilbur never sleeps, after all. He knows the sleep patterns of everyone by the first 24 hour mark. The earliest to wake is Eret, save for Sam who has his moments of all nighters. Dream sleeps for one hour (though Wilbur often wonders if Dream actually  _ needs _ sleep). 

By the end of his second night scouring diaries, a crack of lightning splits Wilbur’s skull in a slap of pain. In his abode, he slumps to the floor, screaming, but nothing comes out except for strained wheezes.

When Eret wakes up, he sees Wilbur bobbing around the lanterns, polishing them aimlessly. He thinks nothing of it and walks away.

Wilbur doesn’t speak for the entire day.

The third night, he remembers it all.

Dream finds Wilbur huddled among a flourishing patch of grass, his eyes staring vacantly across the lake. The lanterns scatter warm light across his cold cheeks. Wilbur doesn’t move.

“Wil—”

“I’d forgotten what it’s like to taste salt and feel air whistle through my lungs,” Wilbur rasps. Dream’s shoulders twitch a bit, and then he kneels down to meet Wilbur at eye level. Wilbur doesn’t avert his eyes or look up at Dream.

Dream takes off his mask. His eyes glow.

“So you’ve remembered.”

“I have,” Wilbur agrees, listlessly brushing his fingers against a stray flower. “I understand.” There’s no anger in his voice, no hopelessness, just a flat slate. 

Dream whispers something in his ear. He doesn’t react, but once Dream leaves, he crumples his shoulders and presses his head against the soil. He takes in gulping breaths like a starving man. 

Wilbur remembers all, but he knows now there’s a reason why everyone tried to feign innocence. So he makes a promise to himself to pretend to be Ghostbur, a ghost who loves all and disregards nothing. He makes a vow to keep the dark memories behind to make everyone happy. 

He vows to stand on the same land he salted before and not just  _ watch _ L’manburg rebuild, but to help, salted earth be damned. 

But for now, Wilbur really craves a drink.


End file.
